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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22514941">And I Find You in the Dark, My Guardian Angel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kampix/pseuds/kampix'>kampix</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, Aziraphale is kinda scary when he wants to be, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, based on 10yrsy's lovely art, but nothing very graphic, is this platonic? is it pre-slash? is it something else? who knows (it's free real estate), mostly allusions to violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 10:09:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22514941</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kampix/pseuds/kampix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm afraid we're closed," Aziraphale intoned in a manner that could only be attained by years of dismissing would-be customers.</p><p>To his dismay, the infernal banging did not let up. If anything, it felt more frantic now. With a sigh, he discarded his gloves and pushed himself out of his chair. Walking briskly, he went up to the door, unlocked it and yanked it open. The figure outside lurched forward and almost fell on him before righting itself.</p><p>"We're clos—"</p><p>"Aziraphale!"</p><p>"Crowley? Is that you?"</p><p>Or: Crowley, ex-member of the mafia on the run, takes refuge with a bookseller he barely knows.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>214</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And I Find You in the Dark, My Guardian Angel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic only really exists because of <a href="https://10yrsyart.tumblr.com/post/188604937887/can-we-see-your-interpretation-of-a-human-au-of">this</a> lovely art piece by 10yrsy that I highly recommend checking out. I hadn't truly written in years, but this was such a fun idea I simply had to try my hand at it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a lovely night for book repairs, Aziraphale thought, gently turning over a page with a gloved hand. His hand stilled for a moment and he breathed deeply, taking it all in. The smell of old leather and herbal tea mixing together. The soft silence hanging in the air. The yellow ring of light formed by his desk lamp as the moon shone through the windows, illuminating the shop in a pale blue glow. Yes, it was all rather nice.</p><p>And then someone knocked at the door.</p><p>Either that or they were trying to punch it into sawdust, judging by the noise.</p><p>"I'm afraid we're closed," Aziraphale intoned in a manner that could only be attained by years of dismissing would-be customers.</p><p>To his dismay, the infernal banging did not let up. If anything, it felt more frantic now. With a sigh, he discarded his gloves and pushed himself out of his chair. Walking briskly, he went up to the door, unlocked it and yanked it open. The figure outside lurched forward and almost fell on him before righting itself.</p><p>"We're clos—"</p><p>"Aziraphale!"</p><p>"Crowley? Is that you?"</p><p>Whatever Aziraphale had expected, it hadn't been that. He barely knew Crowley. Well, that wasn't quite true, but he didn't know him personally anyway. Knowing someone's profile and background in minute details is all fine and good, but it rarely tends to form relationships. In any case, they'd certainly never met outside of the shop's business hours before.</p><p>Crowley had stopped coming over to the bookshop all of a sudden —a few weeks back— despite his visits getting more frequent and Aziraphale had reasoned that the man had finally gotten bored of him. ...Or that something had happened to him. But he'd enjoyed Crowley's company and so had elected not to think too hard about that possibility.</p><p>They'd met a few months back. The man had wobbled inside the bookshop, absolutely sloshed and obviously mistaking it for another establishment. He'd decided to browse a few of the shop's botanical volumes, had mocked several entries, and then had proceeded to have a lengthy discussion (a monologue, really) with Aziraphale about the domestic uses for thyme, local rose varieties, the inherent lyrism of plants, and 19th century poetry, but not exactly in that order.</p><p>Crowley had come back, a few days later, a lot less drunk, though not quite sober either, and, despite Aziraphale's attempts to deter him from it, they had a real talk this time, about everything and nothing. And then he'd come back again, after a week or so, and Aziraphale, who usually avoided company, found himself settling in this new routine as fast as he would his favorite reading chair.</p><p>As it was, Crowley was currently leaning on the door frame, wild eyed and panting. He kept glancing back at the street and his trademark sunglasses were nowhere to be seen. There was a shallow cut on his left cheek and he was clutching his left side, the fabric under his hand damp in a way that suggested it would've shown up as red had the street, and the shirt, not been as dark.</p><p><em> Ah </em> , Aziraphale reflected, <em> decidedly not a social visit then </em>. It had been a while since he'd had someone on the run in his shop, but it was definitely not the first time, and probably not the last. It was, however, the first time he’d been acquainted beforehand.</p><p>"Please, I'm— I don't h—," Crowley stammered.</p><p>Aziraphale held up his hand to silence him, scanning the streets beyond the shop. The were only a few people walking about and, thankfully, no one seemed to be paying attention to them.</p><p>"Yes, very well. Get inside so I can shut the door."</p><p>Relief flashed in Crowley's eyes. He took a few wobbly steps inside the bookstore while Aziraphale locked the door and closed the blinds all the way, checking outside one last time as he did so.</p><p>"I didn't know where— I mean, I don't really— don't wanna intrude..." Crowley attempted to explain. For a second he looked very lost...</p><p>He took another step and tilted dangerously towards the floor. Aziraphale was at his side in an instant, one hand on his back, steadying him, the other holding his arm to guide him along.</p><p>"Yes, yes," Aziraphale shushed him. "Let's find you somewhere to sit down dear boy, then you can tell me all about it."</p><p>They'd made their way almost to the back of the store when there was another knock on the door. It wasn't a soft knock. It was harsh, expectant. Aziraphale's grip on Crowley's arm tightened. They flattened themselves against a wall.</p><p>A voice rang out, muffled by the door.</p><p>"Open up!"</p><p>The insistent knocking got louder.</p><p>Crowley drew in a sharp breath and clamped a hand on his mouth. Aziraphale could feel him shaking.</p><p>"We know there's someone in here! Open up!" The banging on the door was getting louder, impatient.</p><p>"Ssshit, they know I'm here," Crowley hissed through his teeth, barely audible.</p><p>Aziraphale quickly dragged the both of them behind a bookcase and crouched on the floor. Next to him, Crowley was curled up in a ball, panting.</p><p>"Open up in there!"</p><p>Aziraphale sighed then got to his feet. It had been such a lovely night.</p><p>"I'm afraid we're closed," he shouted back.</p><p>"Open up or we smash this door!" The voice responded.</p><p>"I was rather hoping it wouldn't come to that," Aziraphale muttered under his breath.</p><p>He turned to Crowley, who was staring at him intently. No wonder the man wore sunglasses, he reflected. Those green eyes of his were surprisingly expressive. He gave him a warm smile, knowing he had a knack for being reassuring, and took on the air of someone who knows what they're doing (which wasn't entirely untrue).</p><p>"Crowley, listen to me," he said firmly, but as softly as he could manage, "I want you to stay hidden right here." Aziraphale took out a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the bewildered looking man curled up at his feet. "And to stop that wound from bleeding as best you can."</p><p>Amidst the incessant battering noises, the voice rang out again. "Open up! That's your last warning!"</p><p>"We're closed for the night. Come back another time," Aziraphale shouted back.</p><p>There was a small table near the wall. He reached under it and removed something small and shiny before laying it on the ground besides Crowley.</p><p>It was a jeweled dagger. The hilt looked to be iron alloy plated with gold. There was a sapphire inserted at the base and fine engravings decorated the serrated blade. It looked both impossibly ancient, and very well maintained.</p><p>Crowley looked at it, then stared wide eyed at Aziraphale.</p><p>"Not the best weapon, I agree, dear boy, but it was the closest one I had. Still, it's only a last resort option. I'm hoping it won't come to that."</p><p>"Why'd you have that hidden in there?" Crowley hissed, shocked out of silence, "You're just a bookssseller, for fuck's ssake."</p><p>"No time to talk now." He got to his feet. "Oh, and Crowley, I shall be quite cross with you if I come back and find you've bled to death on my floor."</p><p>"Hhnk," was Crowley's only reply.</p><p>"Alright you asked for it! We're coming in!"</p><p>Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the threat, but made his way to the entrance of the shop at a brisk pace. He reached for a book placed on a stand in front the shop's window. He removed something from it before laying it on a small table near the entrance. He then unlocked and opened the door, just enough to see the two figures standing on the other side, partially hidden in the street's shadows.</p><p>"Now, now, there's really no need for all that, fuss, gentlemen," he sternly informed the visitors. "As I've said, we're closed for the night. It says so on a sign against the window to your left. I suggest you familiarize yourselves with it and be on your way."</p><p>The man directly in front of the door (and presumably the owner of the voice they'd heard) scoffed. His partner, standing a bit to the side, spoke up.</p><p>"Yeah, I was just reading that actually. What the hell kinda hours are those, old man??"</p><p>Aziraphale huffed. "Opening hours, of course. It says so at the top. Now if you would be so kind, I fear my tea is growing cold."</p><p>The man closest to him, clearly the one in charge, laid a hand on the door, intending to push it open. It didn't budge an inch. Aziraphale was many things, but he was decidedly <em> not </em> an amateur.</p><p>"Yeah, we're not here for the books." If the thug was disappointed the door wasn't wide open by now, he didn't show it. "We're looking for some guy. We think he might've come here. So, I suggest you let us in unless you want some trouble, if you know what I mean..."</p><p>And there it was.</p><p>"Ah, I see now you're not the type to be easily persuaded," Aziraphale played along. "Very well, but I can assure you, you won't find what you're looking for."</p><p>He opened the door to let them in, but did not stand aside. They would need to do more than that if they wanted to come further in than the shop's very entrance.</p><p>"That's better," the one in charge smiled at him. Aziraphale did not particularly care for this and did not return it.</p><p>"Gotta say though, nice collection you've got there." The man took the book Aziraphale had laid on the table, before taking out a small lighter from his back pocket, flicking it with a thumb, causing a few sparks to fly out. He tossed the book at his partner, who opened it and made a show of slowly ripping the first page out. "Would be a real shame if we had to look through this whole place to find what we're looking for..."</p><p><em> Ah yes, threatening my bookshop </em> , Aziraphale thought. <em> How utterly original </em>. He was under no illusion that the sole reason these two had made it this far was because Crowley didn’t seem like one for fighting and had most likely been taken by surprise. He resisted the urge to scoff and instead glanced to his right, at the junction of ceiling and wall.</p><p>Neither man noticed this. The first was getting too invested in his little speech and the second was busy trying to appear menacing with a butterfly knife. The two of them were now right where Aziraphale had wanted them.</p><p>"You see, I'm not a very patient man..." The man ended this with a dramatic flick of his lighter.</p><p>"Hmm, yes." Aziraphale agreed, with a hint of contempt slipping through. "It's a shame you aren't very observant either."</p><p>The men's indignation quickly turned to shock as the bookseller raised the gun he'd held behind his back since he'd opened the door.</p><p>The safety was casually removed with a soft clicking noise.</p><p>It was his turn to talk now, and he had an inkling they would listen.</p><p>"You see, you're not the first to threaten my bookshop. And you're certainly not the most convincing. You walk into my Soho, enter my shop, with little more than butterfly knives and a lighter and you expect me to let you do as you please? Really, now."</p><p>He let the words linger just long enough for the two thugs to start feeling embarrassed. The one holding a knife looked as though he might try something.</p><p>"I imagine you're wondering if it's really loaded, don't you?" Aziraphale stared down the armed man as he said this. "I can assure you that it is.</p><p>You see, I'm not one for firearms. They're quite bothersome really. So loud, always in need of ammunition... No finesse whatsoever. I much prefer swords if I'm being honest. However, I can't deny I've favored them on occasion. You see, a punch might miss its target, and a blade might always be blocked..."</p><p>Though his gun did not waver, Aziraphale's tone had been light while he’d spoken, almost conversational.</p><p>It suddenly turned ice cold.</p><p>"But at this distance, if I were to shoot either of you, we all know what would happen, don't we?" Silence stretched over a few seconds.</p><p>"Of course, there's always the possibility it might jam. Would you good gentlemen like to test your luck?"</p><p>He cocked his head to the side, daring them to answer. When they didn’t, he added, "if not, I suggest you take your leave."</p><p>"You— you can't do that," said one of the grunts. "They'll send someone else to deal with you."</p><p>"I highly doubt it," Aziraphale said firmly. "After all, I imagine this operation was supposed to stay <em> under the radar</em>, as one might say. Soho is out of bounds after all. We all know that."</p><p>He indicated the wall to his right.</p><p>"But you've both been kind enough to walk right into the range of my surveillance cameras, and leave your fingerprints all over a book no one had laid a hand beside me. I wonder what your employers might do if this information came to light?</p><p>You see, unless you two want a rather large target on your heads, I wouldn't recommend mentioning this to anyone. In any case," he shrugged, "I will know if you do. And unless you truly want to know what happens to those who threaten Soho, I wouldn't come back if I were you."</p><p>The men exchanged a worried look and retreated towards the door.</p><p>"Good night, gentlemen. Do close the door behind you when you leave."</p><p>They did.</p><p>Aziraphale locked it for the third time that night, hoping it would be the last, then hastily made his way to the back.</p><p>Crowley still lay crumpled where he'd left him, jerking away with a start when Aziraphale laid a hand on his shoulder, then wincing as the sudden motion pulled at his wound.</p><p>"Crowley, are you alright?" Aziraphale gently removed his hand, worried.</p><p>"M'not dead yet, anyway," Crowley replied flippantly, but his eyes were trained on the gun Aziraphale still held and his hand had such a firm grip on the jeweled dagger that his knuckles were white.</p><p><em> Oh dear </em>, Aziraphale thought, realizing Crowley had most definitely heard everything that had just transpired. He took a step back, giving Crowley some space. Then, as casually as possible, he made his way to the small table nearby, unclipped his gun's magazine and placed both pieces on top of it, making sure the man behind him could see his every move. He made his way back to Crowley, hands laced in front of himself.</p><p>"Crowley, look at me," he began, waiting for a reaction. When he finally had the others eyes on him, he continued, "I have no intention to hurt you."</p><p>To both their surprise, Crowley started laughing. It was wrenched from him; a nervous, broken thing, growing in intensity. It eventually caught in his throat and he drew in a sharp breath, quieting down slightly. Laughter still bubbled over his lips, despite himself, but hiccups were now slipping through, his breathing growing progressively unsteady.</p><p>Aziraphale sat down beside him, waiting in silence. His eyes scanned Crowley's side, relieved to see his handkerchief didn't look too bloody. It didn't mean much, but at least there most likely was no immediate danger to his life.</p><p>It took a few minutes until the laughter died down. Crowley was staring at the ground, shivering slightly. He frowned suddenly, looking at his hand and realizing he was still clutching the dagger. He let it drop and it hit the floor with a dull metallic sound.</p><p>"I should take a look at those injuries of yours," Aziraphale said softly, getting to his feet and breaking the silence. He brushed invisible dust from his pants, waiting for a response. When Crowley didn't answer, he added, "if that's alright with you, my dear."</p><p>"Yeah, s'fine with me," he muttered with a nod.</p><p>"Can you walk?"</p><p>"...Why?"</p><p>"It's only that I live in a flat on the second floor. I like to think it's a bit more comfortable than my bookshop's floor."</p><p>"Right, 'f course. I'll just..."</p><p>Crowley barely managed to get a foot under himself before slumping back against the bookshelf, breath hissing through his teeth.</p><p>Aziraphale crouched in front of him. "I'll take this as a no, then. Here, let me help you."</p><p>Crowley, who most likely only expected Aziraphale to provide him with support, spluttered in shock when he was gently lifted in a bridal carry by a middle-aged bookseller as easily as if he'd been a travel-sized paperback novel.</p><p>Crowley was about to protest, but Aziraphale spoke up before he could. "I imagine you might have a few questions."</p><p>Crowley snorted. This was the understatement of the century.</p><p>"Naturally, I'll answer them as best as I can, but for now—" Aziraphale waited until deep green eyes met his own to continue. "—know that as long as you are under my roof, no harm will come to you."</p><p>Crowley exhaled slowly and rested his head against Aziraphale's chest. "Yeah, ok..." he said softly. "I think I believe you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I could end the fic here, but I was having a lot of fun with Aziraphale's background and... well... it may have gotten away from me. Which means there will almost definitely be a second chapter to this, but I'm not sure when I'll be done with it. </p><p>In any case, I hope you all enjoyed. Do leave kudos and comments if you did; they really keep me going and I'm very grateful for them.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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